


Welcome Home

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel To The Rescue, Gagged Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possessed Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 02:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16694128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sam gets home first, but not by himself.Cas gets home last.A lot happens to Dean inbetween, and none of it is good.





	Welcome Home

Sam’s hands are cold. 

Cold and vicious and sharp. 

Cruel. 

Those hands have never shown Dean anything but mercy, except when Sam is under the influence of someone or something else. 

Like he was when he stretched that thin line of wire across the stairs. Like he was when he pounced on his stunned brother and flipped him over and stabbed him in the ass with a hypodermic. 

Like he was when he strapped him to the bed and carelessly sliced off his clothing, leaving a dozen stinging cuts behind. 

Like he is now as he sucks Dean’s nipple into his mouth, rolls it between his lips, then grips it with his teeth and tugs. 

The balled up sock in Dean’s mouth muffles his cries. He tears his wrists pulling at the leather straps holding them above his head. But Sam has left him no quarter. 

No way out. 

When the pain explodes, he starts to choke. He can’t catch his breath. He jerks, mindlessly trying to evade the agony, thrashing against his bonds. 

Sam grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs until Dean has to look at him, at his blood stained teeth and lips. 

He feels his stomach clench and twist, the pain fuelling the nausea. 

Sam waggles a finger in his face. “Uh-uh, Dean. You can’t puke with a sock in your mouth; you’ll just end up aspirating your own vomit and that would be bad. So better keep it where it belongs. Right?”

He pets Dean’s stomach in some twisted show of comfort and then presses down with his weight behind it. 

Dean screams through the gag, and then screams again when Sam rubs his fingers across the ruined nub, turning then sticky with his brother’s blood. 

He looks thoughtful for a moment. 

“This makes shit lube,” he says. “So I’ll give you a choice. I’m gonna take the sock out and all you’re gonna do with that mouth is get my fingers nice and wet. You say a word, sock goes back in. 

“Then I go in, big brother, and trust me you’re going to want to make that entrance as slick as you can.”

And he means it. He tugs loose the balled up sock and it’s been in there so long Dean can’t close his jaw properly. 

But when Sam sticks his fingers into his mouth, he manages. Sam screams and punches at him until, dazed, Dean lets go. 

Sam holds his damaged hand to his chest. The look he gives Dean is black. 

“You don’t deserve my dick, anyway,” he says. “But I’ll find something you do.”

++

The first sign that something’s wrong is the deadened feeling that hits him when he enters the bunker. 

It’s as if the place has been sound proofed, but for Grace; his energy tries to reach out, to take stock of his surroundings, and limps back to him. 

The second is that’s Dean’s bag is lying at the bottom of the steps. The contents are strewn on the floor. 

Looking at them draws Cas’s attention to the trip wire. He steps over it and takes a careful study of his surroundings. It seems empty. 

But someone laid a trap for Dean. That appears to have been successful. Who, though? Not demons or angels. This snare, that’s a human method and the only humans they’ve made enemies of lately are the refugees the brothers recently told to leave. 

Except they had no key and no way back in without one. 

Cas wonders if Sam did make it home from his hunt first. Maybe they both were caught. 

He lets his blade slip down into his hand, and moving as quickly as caution allows clears the bunker room by room. 

As he nears the dungeon, he hears a low whimper. Wary of a possible trap, he inches closer. The lights are off, the room cold. 

Cas moves into the darkness. Towards the curled up form he can see on the floor. 

It’s Dean. 

He’s naked. Hands bound behind him with leather straps that have bitten so deep his flesh is swollen and dark around them. 

When Cas touches him, he screams. 

And then he hears Sam’s voice. “Couldn’t figure out the wards right. Figured they’d keep you out, angel. But maybe, I can figure out how to keep you in. Yeah. I like the idea of having an angel to play with.”

At the sound of his brother’s voice, Dean cries. It’s a weak, forbidden sound as if Dean is terrified enough to make it but just as terrified of making it. He drags himself, as best he can, away from it. Uses his bound feet to push. Inch by agonising inch. 

The sheer horror stuns Cas as he steps in front of Dean and turns to face what is definitely not Sam. 

“Get out of him.”

Sam steps closer, letting Cas see him more clearly. Letting Cas see what has him. 

“Make me.”

++

He wakes slowly. All of him feels hazy and disconnected and there’s a deep ache somewhere in him, a place he can’t reach. 

“Sam,” Cas says, and then it all comes screaming back into him and he springs upright with his brother’s name on his lips. 

Cas grabs hold of him, pushing him back down. Sam fights but his strength is nothing to Cas’s. He knows he’s babbling but his head is full of what he did and he can feel Dean’s flesh in his mouth. 

Taste the blood. 

“Gonna be sick,” he says, and Cas grabs a waste paper basket and positions Sam over it. 

He holds Sam steady until he’s done, then helps him settle back down. He sees the unspoken plea in Sam’s eyes, to know, so he tells Sam firstly that Dean is alright. Cas has healed him and Dean is sleeping with a little consented-to help. 

He tells Sam the creature who took hold of him was a _gregook_ , a rare but bitter breed of sprite that was cast out and set apart. Since then they take pleasure in causing one family member to hurt another, relishing in the suffering. 

But it’s gone now. 

Sam can read the firm set to Cas’s jaw, the reigned in fury in his face, and he hopes Cas smote the bastard into fire and dust. 

He’s suddenly exhausted and Cas seems to know it; the angel presses two fingers to his forehead. But Sam clutches at them before Cas can act. 

“I need…. Cas, please.”

++

Dean is whole. There’s no sign that anything happened. He’s changed into sleep pants and a tee, and he looks as peaceful as Sam wishes he always could be. 

He looks like he knows he’s safe. 

Sam sags suddenly, the weakness that crippled him more emotional than physical. If not for Cas, he’d be on his knees. 

Instead he’s suddenly in Cas’s arms. He can’t resist as Cas carries him back to his room; he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t fight as Cas eases him under the covers, and leans in to whisper to him that everyone is alright. That Cas will be here when he wakes. 

He feels a gentle kiss on his forehead before finally falling asleep.


End file.
